


'Get Your Groove On, David.'

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Callan (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: After a terrible day, Meres takes Callan out to drown their sorrows.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 2





	'Get Your Groove On, David.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to LudoJudo and Chippa for plot bunnies.

The tapping on Callan’s door roused him from his half-asleep state and he writhed about on the sofa, unsure whether he was still dreaming. With a huff, concluding it was indeed reality, he pulled himself to his feet and answered the door to whoever it was who insisted on knocking in rhythmic fashion. He was rubbing his eyes and when he finally could see in front of him, he realised it was the face of Meres. He groaned. Maybe it would’ve been better if his eyes had remained blurry.

“What do you want?”

Callan let Meres follow him inside where he trudged back to the sofa and flopped down upon it.

“Nice greeting.” Meres looked down at his colleague. “And nice pants. You have legs, David.”

“I also have two fists. Now what do you want? Didn’t it occur to you after the day we had, that I just want some peace, some kip and to hide away?”

“It did, but it also occurred to me that you might need company. It wasn’t easy seeing what we did.”

Callan’s eyes were bloodshot. “You really are the king of understatement.” He got up and began to pace around the sofa. “It didn’t bother you, Toby, seeing that kid, seeing him laid out the way he was, bullet between his eyes, his face pale and…and…knowing he has a mother and father somewhere wondering how the hell their little soldier ended up in the middle of someone else’s bloody war? Tell me, Toby, does that not bother you?”

“You really are a bastard, David. You think you’re the only one who cares about anything? Well, let me tell you something. I may brush off death of a Hunter or a KGB lunatic but a child, a child! Bloody hell, you’re dense.”

Taking a quick glance at Meres, Callan sniffed. “Alright. Alright. I’m sorry but you don’t exactly give off a caring vibe.”

“And I don’t pretend to, old son, but I do know that shooting a kid is wrong. And believe it or not but I did not go into this work to see those kinds of images. I need a drink, David, and I need…”

“A shoulder to cry on?”

“A mate. And seeing as there’s no-one else who understands this, you’ll have to do. Fancy going out, drowning our sorrows until we can’t remember a darned thing?”

Callan shook him away. “Nah, I dunno. Just feel like drinking at home.”

“Come on, David, come on. We’ll pick up some birds, we’ll forget everything.”

“Are you going to nag me like some wife until I agree?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Let me get dressed.”

…

The club Meres chose in London was thriving with young party-goers, young enough to be Callan’s children he noted, and he frowned when he saw Meres leading him inside, grabbing his arm excitedly.

“Bloody hell, what is this a club for students?”

“No, no, everyone just looks young to you. Some of us can blend in with the youngsters. Loosen up, you look like some old stuffed shirt.”

“I feel like one.” Callan adjusted his collar. “I thought you meant a quiet pub.”

“No, come on,” Meres said looking at the sign on the door. “Look, disco’s this way. Care to dance?”

“Are you serious?”

He grabbed Callan’s arm and started to drag him. “Well?”

“You not going to buy me a drink first mate? I can’t be won that easy.”

Meres laughed. “At your command.” He walked to the bar and Callan followed. The blaring music and bright lights were making it hard for Callan to either see or hear what he was doing and when Meres handed him a drink, he queried it. It was bright pink with a cocktail umbrella in the liquid.

“Trying something new, David, for the shock.”

“It’s pink.”

“Does it make you question your masculinity?”

Callan sniffed the drink. “Is it poison?”

“Dear me, old boy, you are in a state!”

“Now, now, I didn’t say I wouldn’t drink it!”

He downed the drink in one go and watched as Meres followed suit. “Two more,” Meres called to the barmaid.

…

As the night wore on and having consumed more drinks than they cared to remember, Meres shoved Callan.

“You want to dance now?” He shouted over the music.

“Didn’t realise hell had frozen over!” Callan shouted back even louder. He swore he was going deaf.

“You promised. Come on, old boy, time to get your groove on.”

Sighing, Callan agreed. The drinks were clearly making his mind up for him. Meres led him by the arm to the dancefloor where T-Rex’s ‘Get it On’ was playing loudly through a speaker and flashing disco lights illuminated the floor. 

Meres led them to the middle, barging past some men into a spot where a group of young women were dancing.

“Hello ladies,” Meres shouted, winking at them.

They all giggled as Meres started to dance. His moves were enthusiastic but not as cool as he had hoped and his limbs didn’t seem to co-ordinate well when he was drunk. Callan meanwhile was better than expected, allowing his whole body to move to the music in ways he didn’t realise his body was capable of. If he was honest, he much preferred traditional dancing but his hips said otherwise and anyway just the look on Meres’ face was worth the embarrassment. The women were eyeing him up more than they were Meres.

But then Callan saw the face of a teenage boy in the crowd and he stopped still, staring at him for several moments. He could only be several years older than the dead child. Callan froze, his legs wobbled. The dead boy would never be able to dance or drink or kiss a girl. He was dead all because of them. How could they party the night away?

“You alright, old son?” Meres shouted into his ear. “You haven’t done a hip wiggle in two whole minutes?”

“I need some air, out of my way, sunshine.” Callan shoved past Meres, disoriented, and found his way onto a balcony through a heavy door. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be there but the sudden silence that hit him was bliss, pure bliss. As was the sudden air. He could breathe again.

A moment later the door opened and with it a burst of heavy music before Meres found him and shut the door behind them, trapping the noise inside once more. It was silent. It was just the two of them.

“Think this area is strictly prohibited, probably unsafe floor,” Meres commented.

“What do you care?”

“I don’t. Are you—alright?”

“I’m drunk.”

“That’s not what I asked. Anyone can see you’re drunk. I don’t think you’d have been doing the funky chicken if you’d been sober.”

“How can we joke and dance and sing and smile and all that when that boy…that blasted boy!” He hit the railing with his fist and then looked up at the night sky.

“We did our jobs, David. We followed orders.”

“Do you ever question our orders, ever question what the hell we’re doing?”

“No.”

“Why not, oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a good little soldier?”

Meres snorted. “Bloody hell, you’re an obnoxious bugger. It’s easier, old son, so much easier my way. I mean look at you, you’re pathetic, moping and wailing as though David Callan is the only one with a beating heart. Do you think that’ll bring him back? Would it suddenly matter more if I was to weep and pull at my garments? Should I throw myself over those railings? We had nothing to do with that boy’s death, David, we have no blood on our hands.”

“Yeah, well I wish I could believe that.”

Callan leaned his arms on the railings and for a moment there was silence. He looked out onto the skyline. Meres joined him, also leaning his tired arms on the railings. He glanced at Callan.

“Life is beastly unfair, David, always has been.”

“Oh, stop with the platitudes!”

“Why do you always have to fight me, even when we’re on the same bloody side? I came to you not for me, but because for some unknown reason, I was concerned for you.”

“You were worried about me?” Callan looked at him suspiciously.

“No, no, not worried…concerned.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes, there jolly well is. I was concerned. I’ve tried to snap you out of this but you’re impossible.”

Callan sniffed. “Sorry.”

“So, you should be. I paid for all the drinks and there’s a couple of girls in there I’ve ignored to come and watch the stars with you. Didn’t think I’d be on a date with David bloody Callan.”

“Or I…Toby bleedin’ Meres. Cor blimey, what a day, what a pair we make.”

They both laughed but then Callan stopped abruptly, looking down at the ground below where life continued for everyone but that boy. Meres had mentioned jumping. He wondered. It’d be simple, so simple, but was it the easy way out? He found himself laughing again, thinking of how he was out on the town with Meres, how they were grooving together, how Meres was ‘concerned’ about him.

“You’re allowed to laugh,” Meres said.

“He’ll never laugh again.”

Callan looked at Meres in the low light and he seemed so normal, not like the sadistic bastard he was used to but somehow softer, vulnerable, gentle.

“No.” Meres stared ahead to the darkened sky, focusing on the brightest star of all and sighing. “You believe in heaven, David?”

“You what?”

“You know, clouds, angels, eternal paradise and all that?”

“If I do I know we’re not going there.”

“True enough. We’re for eternal damnation— flames, destruction and torture.”

“And the distinction between that and actual life is?”

Meres nodded and breathed in the night air. “Well, I expect even so, we’ll have more fun there anyway.”

“Probably like this place,” Callan teased. “Look, can we just get out of here, take a few beers back to my place or something?”

“David, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

“Suppose we’ll have to get the tube or a taxi. Any money on you?”

“Nah, skint. I’ve got an idea though.”

…

A black cab pulled up outside the nightclub half an hour later where Callan and Meres were waiting outside, smoking cigarettes. Lonely peered out through the open window of his taxi. 

“I’m here, Mr. Callan, what’s the emergency?”

Callan stubbed out his cigarette and then placed his finger over Lonely’s lip. “Quiet, mate, none of that emergency talk. We need a lift home, don’t we?”

“Here you’re drunk!”

“Well observed you little skunk,” Meres said, holding onto Callan’s arm so he wouldn’t fall over.

“Yous said it was an emergency.”

“It is mate, we’re legless, need a lift back to my gaffe.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes, both of us. Get in Tobe.”

Callan had to practically shove inebriated Meres into the back and when he tried to climb into the backseat himself, he tripped and landed on Toby’s lap.

“This wasn’t quite the lap dance I had in mind,” Meres said smirking. 

“None of that naughty business in my cab, Mr. Meres,” Lonely said.

Callan climbed off Meres’ lap and sat comfortably on the back seat, leaning his head on the cushion.

“Here you haven’t been in that club, have you?” Lonely said. “I hear its full of lowlife scum.”

“Yeah, well that’s what we are, Lonely,” Callan said with his eyes shut. “Grade A scum. Hunter’s pets.”

“He’s a little emotional,” Meres said, yawning. “Bad day at the office. I’m trying to cheer him up.”

Callan’s weary head found Meres’ shoulder.

Meres patted his head. “Ah nighty night, David, old son, sweet dreams.”

But instead of going to sleep, Callan sat bolt upright and vomited over the floor. Meres grimaced and then rubbed Callan’s back.

“There, there, let it all out.”


End file.
